Gunmage
Chapter 86: Lost sheep

Chapter 86: Chapter 86: Lost sheep

Lugh’s unnatural gaze remained fixed on the enchanted blade in his hands. He sat at the back of a transport vehicle, part of a vast convoy bound for the capital.

Though he was motionless, his presence alone was enough to disturb those around him.

Passengers scuttled away, leaving an empty zone around him, as if fearing some unseen force might reach out and ensnare them.

I’ll be back soon.

Xhi had told him that before vanishing.

Three days had passed since.

The enchanted dagger named Dain had been lost in the crumbling ruins.

In its place, Lugh now held an enchanted sword with a faint purple gleam, though its eerie glow remained unseen beneath the cloth it had been wrapped in.

The weapon had not resized to fit him. It had not done so for the elf, either.

And Lyra still lived.

Of this he was sure.

She had been run through, but the entropy enchantment could not have been activated by anyone except its wielder.

The signs had been clear as day, yet his former self had failed to see them.

Was it because of emotion?

Emotion.

What did that word even mean?

Lugh’s expression remained unreadable, his thoughts spiraling into strange, alien depths. The few remaining passengers stole wary glances at him, unnerved by the abyss hidden within his gaze.

Then, the vehicle came to a sudden halt. A command rang out, and soldiers ordered the occupants to dismount.

The moment the doors opened, the others in his transport practically fled, hurrying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and him.

Lugh rose, gripping the wrapped hilt of the blade as he stepped onto the dirt road.

Pyrellis was far, too far. They had traveled for nearly a full day, yet the capital remained a distant goal.

The convoy had stopped here because of the supply train in the town, survivors were to board and take a one-way journey to Pyrellis.

Lugh was among the first batch of priority passengers, alongside the still-unconscious third prince, Lovainne, who had been given an entire cabin to himself, guarded by scores of physicians and bodyguards.

The rest would have to wait for the next train.

The steam locomotive powered forward, and as it cut through the landscape, Lugh gazed out the window. The world outside blurred past in waves of color. Lush fields, winding rivers, and distant mountains.

Ophris was breathtaking. Fertile plains stretched as far as the eye could see, while streams and lakes shimmered under the midday sun.

The land was abundant, its riches evident in the farms that supplied grain, livestock, and fish.

Even in the face of war, the people had not starved. Jazeer lay close, offering an endless supply of timber, further strengthening Ophris’ economy.

By contrast, Heieg was barren, its deserts hostile and unyielding. And yet, ironically, it was not impoverished.

The very sands that rendered it inhospitable hid an unfathomable wealth of iron, coal, and gold beneath its surface. Heieg’s prosperity rivaled that of any other nation.

And yet, they still wanted Ophris.

Or so people had believed.

But Lugh knew better.

He had already uncovered the true reason behind the assault.

The journey remained uninterrupted, and on the second day, the silhouette of Pyrellis finally emerged on the horizon.

The capital city rose from the land like a titan of old, a monument to Ophris’ enduring strength.

Its towering white-stone walls gleamed under the sun, their pristine surfaces unmarred by time or war.

Grand spires poked the sky, and within, a sprawling metropolis unfolded in meticulously arranged districts.

Wide roads paved with polished stone cut through the city in elegant lines, leading to bustling marketplaces brimming with life.

Stalls overflowed with vibrant produce, fine silks, and exotic spices, their mingling scents painting the air with richness.

Beyond the market, the noble district exuded refinement and power. Manors, exuding wealth, lined the streets in flawless symmetry.

Their sprawling estates, complete with ornate gates and manicured gardens, stood as silent watchers over the city.

Between them, grand plazas offered gathering places where marble fountains spilled crystalline water into wide basins, their cascading melodies a gentle contrast to the noise of the lower districts.

Pyrellis. The city of white.

Yet, even here, the specter of war loomed.

Soldiers patrolled the avenues, their presence a quiet reminder of the conflict that had driven so many to seek refuge in the capital.

The train came to a halt at one of the city’s local stations. Those capable of walking disembarked, while the wounded were carefully transported under watchful eyes.

Families reunited with loved ones, their cries of joy and sorrow intermingling in the air.

For those with no one waiting, the journey was not yet over. Guided by silent figures clad in robes, they were led through the city streets toward a vast cathedral at its heart.

The path to the cathedral was paved with pale stone, its surface worn smooth by centuries of footsteps.

The air was hushed, the atmosphere holy. As they approached, the grand structure loomed before them, a masterpiece of faith... or architecture, depending on whom was asked.

Sunlight streamed through towering stained-glass windows, transforming the interior into a living canvas of shifting colors.

The abundant lights illuminated the halls, the hues painting the floor, the walls, and the faces of those within.

Pillars of marble carved with ancient inscriptions reached skyward.

It was as if one stood inside a piece of art.

Lugh entered without a word, his unhurried gaze sweeping across the cathedral.

He found a seat near the edge of the hall, lowering himself onto the smooth wooden bench.

The wrapped blade remained in his grasp, and though many eyes darted toward him, none dared to question why he still carried it.

At the head of the chamber stood a man clad in white and red, his presence radiating a practiced benevolence.

The priest had been expecting them. He spread his arms in welcome, his voice warm and soothing.

"Welcome, lost sheep."

Silence followed.

Lugh did not move. His gaze, cold and unreadable, locked onto the priest.

The moment stretched unbearably long. The man’s expression faltered, his chest rising as an unseen force pressed against him.

It was as though something from beyond the veil had taken notice, something vast and unknowable.

Then, at last, Lugh spoke. His voice echoing throughout the cathedral

"Lost?"